This Is Our Last Stand (short story)

« – From the beginning, I knew you would be trouble!

• Then why did you stayed with me? »

B. and F. were once again in a middle of a fight. The arguments were getting more and more regulars. They both asked themselves if they still loved one another. Both thoughts yes, but somehow, they managed to ruin their relationship.

« – I was hoping that I was wrong… That you’ll prove me wrong!

• This was a test then? All this time, this was just some kind of game for you?
• And you failed!
• I’m glad ! Not all failures are bad, I’ve just learned that because of you, thanks! »

This was spiraling, every day, the guts wrenching bouts kept getting more violent. They both felt that dreadful feeling; what will happen the day the words will not be enough anymore? They knew that if they’ll continue in that way, it will turn physical. They knew, they knew! But they loved each other, that’s the worst part of love. Loving to the point of reaching a point of no return. Their love will turn into hate. If they had to fall into this dark corner, they would fall in it together. What if? What if it was a necessary step to finally stop the downward spiral ? No, love, love is a complicated feeling, but to reach the point of physical and verbal violence, it will turn life into a living nightmare. But… this is love? Love right? It supposed to beat everything isn’t it?

« – No one will ever want you anyway.

• I was only with you because I pities you. I’m way too good for you.
• I gave you everything!
• Good, it wasn’t enough. You are a failure.
• Yet, you’re the one who slowly but surely undermining our relationship.
• You played you fair part in destroying it, hypocrite… »

When, how did all started to crumble? It’s strange, but both couldn’t figures out the starting point of the downfall of their relationship. No, actually, they both had their little ideas, but no, this wasn’t something that started this ongoing conflict. It was something lurking in the shadow of their love, something dark, in both of them. They probably are the kind of people who want their lover’s soul. They want everything from the other, taking everything. Passion? Yes, that had to be it. Passionate crime… that what’s will happen if none of them admit defeat. But no! The relationship will end, because one of them have to be defeated by the other, it’s no fun anymore, it’s serious.

« – When I look in your eyes, I don’t recognize the person I’ve fallen in love with.

• How could I be so stupid. I should have known that something was wrong with you since the beginning. Too many red flags.
• See, you’re weak. Stupid even. You’re stupid. I’m ashamed to be seen with you since the beginning. Should have listened to my friends.
• Speaking of stupid, your friends aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. But hey, you choose them.
• I have chosen you!
• Did you? Can you choose who you’ll fall in love with? That would be a first! Or you have really chosen me because nobody would love you. I’m glad all this time with spend together was a waste of your time. I loved every minute with you. It’s over, I’ll get over it, but I did grow during our relationship. For you, it’s a waste of time you’ll never get back. »

This was that last phrase that ended their relationship.

Their was love, at last.

Jaskiers

Publicité

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – FINAL

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

The pack of cigarettes is still here, untouched.

«- Is this a fucking nightmare once again?!»

He tense up, waiting for something to happen. A couple of minutes passed without something happening excepted for a dull silent.

Jack look at the ceiling, the smoke stain looked like a rabbit, like the first time he entered the room.

«- That’s… the fucking sign!»

He waited another five minutes. Nothing.

With a little bit of anxiety, he looked back again at the ceiling, still the same rabbit form.

The author fell asleep without noticing it. The fire alarm woke him up.

«- This is a nightmare! You’ll not foul me this time!»

A knock on the door and the voice of the young hotel clerk rose along the horrible alarm noise:

«- Mister, you have to exit the room, we have a fire here!

• Ah! You stupid motherfucker!
• Sir please! This is not a drill! Come out quickly!
• Yeah! And the giant snake is as long as my cock!
• What… this is not a joke! Yes, ladies and gentleman, leave through those stairs and gather to the front desk!
• Is my fucking bitch of a wife here by any chance?
• No! Sir, come on quick!
• Of course, that’s definitely what’s a liar would say!
• I can open the door for you and then, you’ll have to make a run for it!»

Jack was smelling the fire and started feeling the heat.

«- Very elaborate nightmares! You fucking… I don’t have words for this shit! And I’m a writer! »

The door opened and the young man passed his head through the doorway:

«- Ok, now I will leave, you better get the hell out of here! Because it’s gonna be… well, hell ! Come on sire, I’m leaving. If you stay well… God have mercy on your soul!

• Fuck off! Let me alone Sonia! Where are you dumb bitch! Come on! Make this nightmare end already! Or make it more original! Jesus! A fire? How creative!»

The only answer was the fire swallowing the wall in front of him, making the same noise as the wind during a storm with cracking sounds added to it.

Jack took his notebook to write about the aesthetics of the fire when he noticed the pack of cigarettes untouched. He looked at the ceiling to see the smoke mark looking like a rabbit being devoured by flames.

This was real.

«- Fuck me! Jack you stupid fool!»

He took his notebook, let his trousers and grabbed his laptop, that was about to be destroyed, not without burning is hand.

As he ran outside, the roof started falling and he would have been a dead man if the hotel clerk didn’t grabbed him and pushed him toward the stairs.

After joining the other clients gathered in choc in front of the desk, Jack coughed, his lungs were suffocating him.

Red and blue lights flashed on the tired and anxious faces.

«- Sorry kid, had a weird nightmare and thought that… y’know.

• Well, it’s probably more than a nightmare that you had. You probably sleepwalked, you are the one who started the fire!
• What are you on about!
• I saw you using a deodorant and a lighter and running around yelling non-sens words!
• What? No!
• I saw you too you crazy asshole! Said an old lady.
• I… no! It’s a dream! You are my bitchy wife aren’t you! »

Jack punched the aged women in the face. The patrons restrained him until police arrive and took him to the nearest mental hospital.

Today, Jack still thinks that he is stuck in a nightmare. His goal is to go back to that hotel room to wake up.

The only problem, the hotel doesn’t exist anymore. In fact, it was an abandoned motel.

Jack was found by the police half-naked, screaming and yelling, alone in front of the burning abandoned building.

Jaskiers

P.S. : JOYEUX NOËL À VOUS TOUS !

Meet The Unknown ( A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Inspired by The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich

Young man, young man. Go on adventures, take your youthfullness with you, see those lands that nobody never had the chance to discover. See for yourself. Not for another. Young man, go and don’t look back unless the landscape is worth a view ! Leave Young Man ! Live young man !

Young man, that’s how is grandpa’ used to call him. Those words came from a letter that he wroted to him, August, his grandson.

August loved to read this letter over and over. It gaved him a feeling of greatfullness, of mindfulness, of legitimity. He wanted to travel the world because his grandfather advised him to. Granting him with the autorisation to go on adventure, alone.

This letter was writed by a dying old men, full of love and wise advice for his grandson.

August spoked to his dad about this letter. It wasn’t really an easy relationship between his father and the old man. Exactly like it was between August and is dad. History as a tendancy to repeat itself now and then, to reciprocate the same kind of patterns.

August’s dad read the letter, frowned and gave the letter back to his son.

– Do whatever you want with this old man advice. Maybe his right, maybe not. Do as you please. Either way, I know you’ll do what you want even if I advised you against doing something this dangerous.

Of course, August would have love to have the opportunity to follow his grand father advice. He dreamed about sailing in the most dangerous seas, the most cruels and beautifull montains, the most mysterious forest, meeting curious and shady stranger. Living the adventure.

August left alone his family household directly after the end of the school year.

Taking the bear minimum, he started his journey on foot, he had planned to travel to Alaska. He wanted to face the cold weather and the unapologetic environnement of the wild snowy landscape of the great North. Leaving his warm californian lifestyle to confront the terrifying cold of the alaskian weather.

Maybe, he would meet those husky dogs, maybe he will encounter the notorious grizzly bear, and some royal looking moose. See some natives of this land who will teach him their way of living, learning the ropes of surviving in the wilderness.

And then ? Take the sea. Like an Hermann Melville, without any single experience of the sea. Not to hunt whales, but to live throughout the hardship of being a sailor. Why not enduring the devastating waves and winds of a storm ?

All in all, he wanted stories. Stories he could write and talk about like a Jack London.

August wasn’t blinded by the situation he would put himself in. He knew that it will not be an easy walk in the park.

But what’s an adventure without risk or danger ?

His journey will also be a learning curve, learning who he was, deep inside. And only him and his God would judge him troughout his adventure.

Young man, go West, or North, South, Est. Maybe all at the same time ! But move young man. Mouvement is life ! Take what’s yours : freedom !

Jaskiers

They want blood John ! (A short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

« Dear Thomas and all of the Espire’s redaction;

You’re maybe wondering why I did that to the Perish redaction.

Let me explain myself before being judge, rightfully so, by the public.

I was a writer for that paper for two decades.

The begining here was delightfull. I was able to write whatever I wanted to write about. My work was never disputed by the former boss, M. Anthelm.

I wrote story about everything I wanted to. This was also a great time to learn about story telling and the craft of creating shorts fictions for a wide audience.

My relations with the staff was ideal for a writer. They were open, respectful and dedicated to help me and my work evolve. Nothing was out of bundary, no subject was banished, I had the opportunity to broaden my horizon and my audience. And the pay was decent.

Those years passed by fast, as all the years happen to do when you have a lot of work.

M. Anthelm was a mentor, a friend, a confident. Always up to publish new things. As I said, they was no bundaries.

Freedom. That was the magazine was all about. That was what America was all about. That’s the way we all saw it back in those days. Freedom of speech. A real free press.

Old boss, like I loved to call him, had to retire, cancer. Fucking lung cancer. I told him many times : Anthelm, good ol’ boss, stop smoking, that’s not healthy, tobacco isn’t a medecine ! They have been lying to us, it destroy your lungs and all ». But of course, being a old man, and a boss of a successful newspaper/magazine, he told me, very politely, to focus on my work instead of focusing on him. Fair.

The next week of that conversation, I had writed a short story about a man dying of cancer because of the cigarette. He was dying, leaving his family not only with a painfull grieving to do but also with greats difficulties. The man died, and the family was torn apart because they faced problems they could not overcome. The used-to-be stable and perfect family ended up being splitted into clans and it finished with all members facing theirs demons.

A writer have to be a little bit of a prophet sometimes.

M. Anthelm died, we all grieved, we stayed united and strong until the new boss came around.

Here is the start of my demise.

M. Catheren took the place of my good ol’ boss. Right at the begining, things have gone down south with him.

To be honest, I didn’t liked his face, his nonchalant and arrogant attitude. I think he had the same feelings for me.

He hated the first story I gaved to him. And the second, and all the others. I wasn’t able to have a single story publish during three months !

I asked to talk with him, it wasn’t like with the good ol’ boss, I had to pass trought is assistant, who had to communicate to him my desire to have a meeting. It took three days to finaly have hold of him.

I took the opportunity to ask him what was is problem with my stories and what does he really wanted from me and my writing.

He started by telling me that the time had changed, and that, all of us, had to adapt to that new world.

The time didn’t changed since he became the boss, he was so vain that he thought that just by becoming the head of the magazine, everyone working for him had to change, change in his direction. For a boss, this could be seen as normal but he was far, far from being a man, a leader, like M. Anthelm.

That was something, being told that when I worked here for decades. But he finally told me, what he really wanted from my writing :

« They want blood John ! Make some cow-boy, outlaws, gangster, cops stories, those stories that’s spill blood at every words ! The people Johnny, they want to be entertained ! Bring out the guns ! Violence ! That’s what’s sell now ! And you better be good at it ! You have to prove your worth toward me ! This is America Johnny, we work hard, harder than our neighboor, and we work well ! We make sacrifices so we can all succeed in our collective project which is, like I’ve said the day I became the boss, to be the number one magazine in America ! Fuck the others ! Especially Espire ! Esquire is managed by M. Thomas, a prick, a coward, someone that call himself a intellectual ! Ah ! Fuck ‘em Johnny ! I don’t want my magazine to be a den of intelectuals ! I want it to be the fast food of the magazine industry ! You can do that John right ? You’re with me right ? Ah ! You old cunt, you better be if you don’t wanna finish unemployed. A unemployed writer life is a life heading for the gutter ! Johnny, you don’t want to finish like that. Now, write me some bloody stories. No more talk, we need content, and the content that our everchanging audience really want. Out now ! Let’s get to work will ya’! »

Yes, those where is words. This men, coming from nowhere, that nobody in the industry knew, had the nerves to gave me lessons about how our magazine worked.

I had to do something but he said one true thing : I would have ended up in the gutter if I didn’t followed his directions.

This is why a write this letter to you, M. Anthelm. You and your magazine have been our fierce rival. We can never be good without a great rival. And God know you were a great opponent.

Why do I wrote those last lines like it was over ?

This letter will be my testimony, explaining why I did this.

Hopefully, when you’ll receive this letter, my plan would have come to term, successfully.

Yes, I have killed M. Catheren. He wanted me to spill blood, he got served.

I ended my life after my killing. Didn’t wanted to finish in prison for a young arrogant piece of shit.

Publish that letter, or do whatever you want with it. Make some money from that tragedy, scrap it to the last dollar you could produce with it.

Hopefully you will resume your outstanding work. The work of a real litterature’s magazine !

Long live the free writers ! Long live freedom. Long live America !

Yours truly;

Johnny V. Covack.

—

Jaskiers